


He Constantly Needs Attention

by kipkaizer



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Cuddles, Fluff, Gamzee is an affectionate asshole, Karkat just wants to talk to people, M/M, Pale Romance | Moirallegiance, SO FLUFFY, cotton candy all up in here, haha - Freeform, not the ship like just really fluffy omg, tags???, welcome me into your community
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-14
Updated: 2014-12-14
Packaged: 2018-03-01 09:23:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2768012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kipkaizer/pseuds/kipkaizer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I suck at titles please bear with me.</p><p>Karkat and Gamzee cuddling that's it I'm trash for cliché scenes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	He Constantly Needs Attention

**Author's Note:**

> Gamzee is a disgusting clingy asshole and no one likes him except Karkat honestly.  
> I'm Gamkar trash ok,,,

 

        Angry, gray capitals fill the screen as you troll and try to somehow reason with an “ironic” dumbass named Dave fucking Strider. Misplaced red appears every once in a while, remarks so sarcastic you can almost feel the strange human language seeping through your computer screen like florescent-red acid.

        There’s one problem though, and said problem is half asleep, trapping your now numb arm just barely enough to only let you reach the bottom two rows of keys on your husktop, and occasionally fidgeting or nuzzling you with gross smears of white and gray face paint, causing typos in your endless streams of curse-ridden text. 

He moves again, this time with a yawn that makes him look like a sleepy barkbeast, and you’ve had just about enough of reading over the word “guck” instead of your usual variations of a similar word, so you make a frustrated grumble-sound and try to nudge a sopor-slowed juggalo off of your arm, but only succeed in having said juggalo scrunch up his face, faded scars showing through smeared makeup that usually conceals them, and stretch his arms around your middle, now trapping both of your arms, constricting them tightly even if his mind is muddled with sleep and sticky, electric-green sopor. You struggle half-heartedly, but that only makes him tighten is grip.

        Ugh, stupid highblood strength. 

        You sigh.

        “Hey, pan-shattered, freakishly-strong moron, can you at least give me exactly a fifth of a second to quit talking to one of the many other idiotic assholes I have to deal with in my sorry excuse for a life and move my poor husktop out of the way before it falls ungracefully and dangerously to the floor as you attempt to cuddle me to death?”

        He whines like maybe he’s actually not going to let you, but then rolls over slightly, freeing your arms so you can discontinue your conversation with turntechGodhead. 

        You barely have enough time to write out a quick _“EXCUSE ME, BUT I AM CURRENTLY IN THE FUCKING PREDICAMENT OF BEING MAULED BY A CLINGY JUGGALO FREAK, AND MUST LEAVE YOU AND YOUR SARCASM-HUMPING ASS ALONE FOR A WHILE,”_ and set your husktop somewhere off your pile consisting of sweaters and novels before your moirail smothers you with something resembling “affection” again, wrapping his skinny, lilac tinted arms around your sweater-clad torso and practically dragging the entire top-half of his body into your lap, like he _actually_ thinks he’s small enough to fit. One of his legs is stretched off the pile, and he twitches and stretches his toes. His nails are disgusting and sharp, and you make a mental note that you should tell him to possibly clip them later, because you know from experience those things hurt when he accidentally scratches you with them. His other leg sleepily moves to curl around you, his thigh pressed against your back. He sorta half-headbutts, half-nuzzles your stomach, and you _really_ wish you had wiped off his stupid greasepaint before you guys got comfy on a pile.

        Past Karkat sure is an idiot.

        Your arms are at least free now, and you pass sweet, silent time by threading your fingers into your moirail’s hair, scratching gently at his hornbeds and carefully untangling some of the minor knots in his hair. The silence is broken by his rough and loud purring, but it’s a soothing noise by now, calm you down in ways only a palemate can, filling your thinkpan with pink, calm, cotton candy fuzz, and soon enough his purring only turns into a soft rumble in between honk-like snores. He’s probably drooling, but you can’t really bring yourself to care right now. It’s nice. A nice break from the headache-inducing chats you have with all the _other_ lunatics in your life. You’re so use to having something to do at all times, but some diamond-shaped part of you is content with just relaxing like this.

        Your name is KARKAT VANTAS, and even if you’re an angry mess of troll, you could always be calm content with just your moirail.

 

**Author's Note:**

> This is hella old,,, but comments and kudos and whatnot are still appreciated!! I just wanted to get something up and posted, but I'll be writing some more stuff soon.


End file.
